


so hold me tight

by dottie_wan_kenobi



Series: sterek fics [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dad Derek Hale, Scent Marking, pack members are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 06:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20335432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/dottie_wan_kenobi
Summary: “Stiles.” The disgust is clear as day in Derek’s voice. “What are those.”Seriously, he replies, “These are my crocs, Derek.”“Those are hideous, is what they are.”He joins his mate under the covers, immediately sticking his cold feet between Derek’s calves. There’s no reaction except a very judgmental eyebrow, but that’s about the PJs, not his feet. Derek knows he’s like a space heater and that Stiles will take advantage of it as much as he can.“They’re comfortable!” He defends, leaning up a little and punching at his pillow until it feels right. The judgment turns up on Derek’s face, and Stiles sighs gustily. “I’m not taking them off. No way, no how.”“You’re supposed to be an adult,” Derek complains, but he opens his arms anyway, pulling Stiles so close, it’s like he’s trying to meld them together.





	so hold me tight

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. Writer's block is killing me y'all. I have tons of WIPs that need to be worked on but the muses won't cooperate, so here's a cute little Sterek fic. Idk *throws up hands*
> 
> I made an attempt at humor but it's almost 3 am and idk if I hit the mark
> 
> title from HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON'T by fall out boy, which I think was maybe written specifically for sterek but who can say, really
> 
> I don't own anything you see here except for the way the words were strung together

Derek gets home late. Stiles can tell how exhausted he is just by the sound of his jacket being dropped over a chair in the kitchen, the way his feet drag down the hall. He’s coming straight from some training with all the betas, who apparently enjoy nothing more in life than running their alpha ragged. On one hand, it’s really annoying. On the other? Endearing as shit, and also pretty fun if Stiles does say so himself.

“How horrible were they?” He asks, clicking through a few pages of the stupid online textbook for his Psych 101 class. Putting it off until his senior year was definitely not one of his better decisions— it’s boring as all hell, and has so much homework, he had to stay home and work on it instead of going to the training session.

“Jackson and Erica got into it again.”

Wincing, Stiles looks over. “Isaac insert himself into the drama, or is he finally gonna listen to me telling him five hundred times to let them work it out themselves?”

Derek shakes his head. “Isaac stayed out of it, but Boyd didn’t. He stood between them and told them both how annoying they are until they were about to turn on him instead.”

Stiles laughs at the mental image, wishing he could’ve seen it. “Remember the days he’d stay all quiet in the corner? Der, he’s _blossoming_!”

Derek mumbles something that sounds pretty grumpy, but Stiles knows he’s happy how well the betas are doing, especially Boyd and Liam, his second-in-command and newest wolf respectively. Coming in close, he presses a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

“You gonna go to bed, then?”

A nod is his response, his mate already moving away, farther into their bedroom.

Turning back to his computer, he says, “Just—remember my rule about shoes.”

There’s movement that Stiles can see the vague shadow of on his screen, Derek kicking off his sneakers. “Not on the bed, I know.”

“Then I better not see one speck of dirt, blood, or other ambiguous dried stuff flakes. I’ll know.”

“Stiles, there are crumbs all over the blankets anyway,” Derek says, at the bed now if the sounds of sheets being swiped off is anything to go by.

“Yeah, and I counted them all, so trust me, dude. _I’ll know_.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

Grinning at his computer, he calls over his shoulder, “I like how that’s what you focus on and not any of the other, arguably more weird shit. You really got your priorities in order.”

Derek makes a grumbling growly sound.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, deciding not to comment on how much that noise resembled one an annoyed kitten makes. “Look, I still have a ton of homework to do, so unless you’re currently bleeding out or otherwise injured, you gotta wait.”

There’s another annoyed-kitten-like noise, which Stiles is gonna take as ‘I’m not dying so I guess I have to wait, which I’m grumpy about’. This is far from the first time he’s come back and Stiles has been busy, though, so they fall into their usual routine of quiet time. He loses himself in his work, giving extremely thorough answers even though he’s not particularly interested in the questions. The TA is a bastard and clearly hates grading. All that frustration is taken out on Stiles and the other students, so this is his way of getting some petty revenge.

By the time he’s finished and remembers he’s not alone, over an hour and a half has passed. He pushes his chair away from the desk, standing with a groan. There’s no point in trying to not wake Derek—either he never fell asleep, or woke up when the chair wheels squeaked. Stifling a yawn, Stiles turns around, finding the alpha werewolf bundled up under the sheets, only his head sticking out. Hair rumpled and weakly glaring, he looks adorable.

Smiling to himself, he shucks off the jeans he wore all day, unconcerned about the eyes on him. Nothing’ll be happening tonight except some five star cuddling. He grabs a pair of pajama pants from the drawer and steps into them, only having to hobble a little bit.

“Stiles.” The disgust is clear as day in Derek’s voice. “What are those.”

Seriously, he replies, “These are my crocs, Derek.”

“Those are hideous, is what they are.”

He joins his mate under the covers, immediately sticking his cold feet between Derek’s calves. There’s no reaction except a very judgmental eyebrow, but that’s about the PJs, not his feet. Derek knows he’s like a space heater and that Stiles will take advantage of it as much as he can.

“They’re comfortable!” He defends, leaning up a little and punching at his pillow until it feels right. The judgment turns up on Derek’s face, and Stiles sighs gustily. “I’m not taking them off. No way, no how.”

“You’re supposed to be an adult,” Derek complains, but he opens his arms anyway, pulling Stiles so close, it’s like he’s trying to meld them together.

“Adults can have Cookie Monster pajama pants, you know.” A well-aimed but gentle poke to the stomach gets him nothing but Derek nuzzling into the pillow, evidently ignoring him now. “Very mature ones, even.”

“Uh huh. Let me know if you find one.”

He laughs, letting the flow drop of conversation stop there. For a while, they just lay together, Stiles finding infinite comfort in the steady rise and fall of his mate’s chest.  
Channeling Derek from a few years before, he watches as Derek settles, eyes closed and relaxed. His gaze takes in the angles of Derek’s face, the soft beard, the shadows from the light outside making him look even more beautiful than he usually does, which is just unfair, really. Untangling one of his arms, he can’t help but reach up and gently caress the hinge of his jaw, down to his neck.

Derek doesn’t tense up, growl, or anything. But he does say, quiet and soft, “Stiles…”

His thumb swipes down into the hollow of Derek’s throat, over his Adam’s apple, feeling the tendons. He splays his hand out, fingers curling a little but not gripping at all. Scent marking, yes, but definitely no gripping.

It’s not possessive—it’s protective. His way of saying he can be trusted with something vulnerable. He’s proven it over and over again, but hey, who doesn’t like some reassurance, especially after a long and tiring day?

“Go to sleep, sourwolf,” he whispers, enjoying the way Derek melts at his words.

“I still hate your stupid pants.” It comes out as a mumble, said more to the pillow than to Stiles.

“Yeah, yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> [The Pants](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/70/79/b9/7079b988dd48abeb69ae1c29f18d523c.jpg) / [vine reference](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NL2lRwlDbw)
> 
> Let me know what you thought? <3


End file.
